


Outfox

by allthatconfetti



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: M/M, did i say very i meant extremely liberal, mentions of build-up to sex, side seokhao, thieves au, very liberal use of various cuss words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 12:52:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9182572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthatconfetti/pseuds/allthatconfetti
Summary: Everybody's down on their knees,Listen like thieves,But who needs that,When it's all in your hands-- INXS, "Listen Like Thieves"Someone is stealing the San Pietro diamond and Soonyoung intends for that person to be him. Unfortunately for Soonyoung, he’s not the only one with that goal in mind. Cat burglar/thieves AU.An entry to Supernova: A Soonyoung/Wonwoo Fanworks Fest 2017. #HappySoonwooDay





	

**Author's Note:**

> Well. This fic was overly ambitious. I regret nothing.
> 
> I SWEAR I CAME UP WITH THIS FIC BEFORE BOOM BOOM'S MV CAME OUT AND HEIST AU/SOONYOUNG WORKING WITH LASERS BECAME A REALITY.
> 
> This was such a fun thing to do, and I'm really happy to have organized/run this fanwork fest with the best best best people ever: I LOVE YOU @SOONWOONET ADMIN TEAM <3 thank you for being your wonderful selves. Also a big hug to everyone at @soonwoonet; you are the best people ever, and the past few months have been amazing getting to know all of you and screaming about this OTP with you. To many more midnight memories.
> 
> My lovely artist Syan's work for this fic can be found [here](http://sunyongssi.tumblr.com/post/155346450714/) ;____; I DON'T DESERVE YOUR GORGEOUS ART. ILUSM!

The affluent gated community of Greenbury Lane, with its rows upon rows of stately, dignified homes of marble and moss, prided itself on having only the most exclusive and posh of residents. The Gregory house at Number 342 Mulberry Street was one such exclusive and posh residence.

A new Maserati is parked inside the see-through garage, along with two other sports cars. The freshly manicured lawn has no toys littered across it, no bicycle strewn across the front, just a carefully landscaped rock garden that tries to give off the appearance of zen.

Inside, it’s dark and quiet, the only source of light coming from the dimmed street lights streaming in through the windows. The west wing houses the bedrooms, but no one--save a few housemaids--is home; the older son is in college while the two younger girls are housed at a secondary boarding school. They pretend it’s Hogwarts to get by. The parents are away on business; at least, Mr. Gregory is. Mrs. Gregory is busy spending his money buying furniture no one will sit on.

The east wing houses the private collection. Numerous magazines in the country have seen fit to write several articles about the home containing the most extensive and highly applauded Hoppers in the country, but its exact location has never been revealed. Mr. Gregory values his privacy greatly, and his security even more.

They do, however, have a cat.

An abyssinian, sleek and silent, pads softly through the halls. Ordinarily, she is fenced into a section of the west side of the house where the girls sleep, because Mrs. Gregory is concerned about shedding and scratching, but it is a well-mannered cat, and one of the housemaids is soft of heart and lets her out whenever Mrs. Gregory is out of town. Passing by the archway leading into the study, her ears prick at a distant sound and she pauses, still, in front of the entrance.

The movement is small, barely a flutter in the shadows. But cats see more than the average human, and when she peers into the study hall, she sees him: a figure, clad in black, more lines than curves and as silent as the ink-dark night. The only thing that gives him definition against the darkness is the small knapsack hanging from his shoulders, black like the jumpsuit he’s wearing with a few tubes sticking out. The cat watches, curious, as the figure turns to look at her. It wiggles a few fingers at her, and what she could see of his eyes are curves thinned with mirth. Before she can walk closer, however, he makes a running leap out through the open window and, in the blink of an eye, is gone.

The cat blinks once, twice, before padding on.

 

❧  ❧  ❧

 

The Chinese diner is crowded and noisy; there’s a regular Friday crowd and it just so happens that Friday falls on a payday. So not only are people ordering by the trayloads, they accompany every bamboo dimsum container with a beer of their choice, resulting in a rowdy and humid atmosphere that not even the night air of a September night in Seoul could cool.

Soonyoung is used to it, though. He scrolls through the apps on his phone until he sees someone approach his table and place a scattering of dishes on it. He picks up his chopsticks and, opening one of the dishes, spears a piece of shrimp har gow. The steam evaporates into the air, and the smell almost brings Soonyoung to his knees. “It smells great,” he tells Seokmin, who’d just laid down all of his orders.

Seokmin responds with a bright smile, fist cocked at his hip and clutching a pad of paper. He’s wearing an apron that has “Kiss the Chef” emblazoned across it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung replies honestly. “But you look really dumb in that apron.”

“It’s actually a directive in my case,” Seokmin replies breezily. He looks really happy. “I’m supposed to be the one kissing the chef on behalf of a happy customer.”

“You’d kiss the chef even if I bitched about his taro puffs.”

“I would but you wouldn’t have any reason to bitch about his taro puffs.”

Seokmin’s easy confidence in his partner’s cooking abilities amuses Soonyoung. “So will Minghao pitch a fit if I ask his front of house to sit with me a bit?”

“Hey! You’re a poet and didn’t know it!” Seokmin doubles over at his own joke, collapsing into the chair next to Soonyoung’s.

Sometimes, Soonyoung has many regrets. “I’m considering retracting my invitation.”

“Pfft, you know you missed me,” Seokmin leans his elbows on the table and perches his chin on his hands. “So, where did you come from this time?”

“Hmmm,” Soonyoung hums. He did miss Seokmin; he was, after all, his former work partner and the only person who knew what he did for a living--if you could call what he did a living. “Connecticut.”

Seokmin’s eyebrows shoot up. “No way. The Hopper collection? That was you?”

Soonyoung shrugs, slurps up more noodles. They really were good. “I didn’t think you still kept up with the grapevine.”

“Dude, that was on the news.”

“Was it? That’s cool.” Soonyoung feels a slight sense of pride come over him when he hears that. He had been on a plane when dawn had broken, halfway across the Atlantic by the time the maids had discovered the break-in and had called the cops. He saw a brief headline about it when he landed but went straight to his usual contact to get rid of the paintings, before dropping by his warehouse to store his favorites. “Do you serve house tea with these?”

“Of course we do, this idiot was just eager to see you.” Minghao appears from behind Seokmin, cup of tea in hand, and the latter’s eyes light up at the sight of him.

“Hao, look! It’s Soonyoung!”

“I can see that,” Minghao says, faintly amused at the tone Seokmin’s voice has taken--all wonderment and excitement. He nods at him. “Hello Soonyoung.”

“Hello again, Minghao.”

“Try not to get him too worked up, please,” Minghao tells him. He smiles down at Seokmin fondly. “He was terrible to sleep next to for a week after you told him about your Monte Carlo trip.”

Seokmin pouts. “It was really fun! There were boats involved!”

Soonyoung smiles. “I’ll try my best.” Soonyoung would never admit to being slightly intimidated by Minghao but that doesn’t erase the reality that he is. He might be the internationally notorious jewel and art thief but Minghao had impressive knife skills, plus he’s pretty sure he used to beat people up for a living. He looked soft but he knew that he was fiercely protective of Seokmin, and as Seokmin’s longest friend, that was something Soonyoung respected. Even if he lost a partner, seeing the way Seokmin brightened every time Minghao gave him a shy smile was something that made it okay after awhile.

Minghao gives him a small nod, before he turns to go, running a hand down Seokmin’s nape as he does.

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Soonyoung quips once Minghao is out of hearing range.

“Don’t be stupid,” Seokmin replies, good-naturedly. “Of course he does! He just worries you’ll whisk me away to a life of crime and debauchery again.”

“Our lives were never very debauch-y.”

“Tell me about it,” Seokmin sighs. “I kept telling him about the hours we spent staking out houses in the bushes. He thinks it’s all glamour and excitement when we both know it’s ten hours of slog for five minutes of thrill.”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung replies. He takes a sip of the tea, swallows. Pretty damn good tea. “But those five minutes always make it worthwhile.”

Seokmin snorts. “At some point, if you’re not careful, you’re going to get caught.”

“I don’t get caught,” Soonyoung replies simply. He places the cup back on the table, folds his hands. “I’m careful enough.”

“See that you are,” Seokmin says soberly, and Soonyoung sees a little part of the shrewd conman who worked with him for the best part of almost ten years. He’s happy to see him; he was starting to think he didn’t exist anymore.

“Why did you stop, Seok?”

“You know why.”

“Say it once more, with feeling,” Soonyoung deadpans. He needs to hear it every once in awhile because he has a hard time believing it’s good enough.

Seokmin shrugs. He picks up a pair of chopsticks and eats one of Soonyoung’s har gow, avoiding Soonyoung’s attempt to poke him. “Because I realized if I got caught, someone would be disappointed. That was enough reason for me. It’s a reason bigger than the job, the game.”

Soonyoung hums. “Don’t you miss it?”

“Not as much as I thought I would. Then again, I was always in this for survival, not for recreation.” Not like you, was the implied barb here. Soonyoung takes it. “Besides, Minghao, this place… it’s reason enough. For me, anyway.”

Soonyoung nods. “Alright.”

Seokmin tilts his head. “Why the question?”

“No reason,” Soonyoung shrugs. He thinks about dark alleys, jimmied windows, leaning his ear against cold stainless steel and waiting for the telltale tick. The thrill of the dark, the satisfaction of a well-planned heist… he doesn’t think he’ll be able to give this up for the world. There are things that people are born to do and Soonyoung, this is it for him.

“So what’s next?”

Soonyoung shrugs again, nonchalantly, but he gives Seokmin a pointed look that has him sitting up straight.

“No way. Seriously?”

“Yes.”

Seokmin leans over the scattered dishes on the table. “Do you have a partner? A crew?”

“I don’t need one.”

Seokmin gives him a pointed look. “Don’t let your pride get in the way. This is a big one for you.”

“I’ve pulled bigger,” Soonyoung responds coolly.

“Technically, yes. Emotionally, no. The San Pietro… that’s kind of your thing.”

Soonyoung shrugs again, starting to get annoyed at how easily pegged he is. “Just any other job.”

Seokmin knows when he gets into this kind of mood there will be very little pulled out of him, “Be careful. And good luck.”

Soonyoung scoffs, before picking up another twist of noodles in his chopsticks. “I don’t need luck.”

 

❧  ❧  ❧

 

The view of the Seoul skyline at night is beautiful from his Gangnam apartment. Soonyoung gives it a cursory glance as he enters, the ceiling to floor windows of his living room a frame to the glittery lights of the city below. He drops his keys into the bowl on the mantle next to the door, empty space where photographs would be. He shrugs out of his coat, tosses it haphazardly in the direction of his coat rack; it slumps onto the floor in a pile.

He walks towards the bedroom without bothering to turn on the lights, only reaching over his shoulders to tug his shirt off. He fishes his phone out from his pocket before hooking his thumbs over his pants and boxers, pushing down until he crawls, naked, under his covers. He looks up and stares wordlessly up at the ceiling, thinking about how heavy the silence in the room is.

It takes him five minutes to fall asleep.

 

❧  ❧  ❧

 

Soonyoung tilts his head at the painting.

It’s a lovely Degas, barely a ruler’s length, but Soonyoung’s just come from his hotel room where he’d checked in straight from his flight, so he doesn’t know if his opinion on the painting is heavily influenced by such facts. Still, it’s nice enough. Not for the price the auction house had ended up with but respectable.

He swills the champagne flute the servers had given him before taking a small sip, the bubbles settling nicely on his tongue. The auction was nearly over by the time he arrived, so he only got to witness a few of the last lots. That was enough for him. He only wanted to see this piece before getting some rest anyway.

Around him milled several socialites and executives, some of whom he noticed were eyeing him appreciatively. He tries not to pay any mind, although he does preen a little internally. He knows the cut of this suit flattered him immensely, and he’s not ashamed to admit that he likes attention, but only when it suits him. Given his age and his style of dress, they all probably thought he was a generously rewarded escort. He doesn’t want to dissuade them of the notion, even if he’s already fended off a couple of casual strokes from some of the lonely ladies and gentlemen in the crowd with an apologetic smile. He wasn’t interested; not in them, anyway. He has enough money not to take any handouts, and enough sense not to get involved with people he would maybe be stealing from in the near or distant future.

That would be dumb. And Kwon Soonyoung is not, by any stretch of the imagination, dumb.

From the corner of his eye, Soonyoung sees another person join him in admiring the painting. He glances to his right and sees a person--a man, Asian-looking, lean and slight, eyes narrow and narrowed behind round wire-rimmed glasses, squinting at the painting. His tall frame has the loose turtleneck he’s wearing hanging nicely around him, bunching around his hips. From what Soonyoung can tell he looks about his age, maybe slightly younger, and he’s muttering under his breath in a tongue that sounds familiar. Soonyoung’s ears perk up.

“Excuse me?”

The guy’s head jerks slightly, then turns to look at him fully. Everything about his face is sharp angles, except his mouth which has a worried bottom lip just made for soothing.

(Soonyoung shakes his head at that.)

“Are you Korean?” he asks him in smooth unaccented English.

The other blinks for awhile, before his face relaxes into an easy smile that takes Soonyoung aback more than he is willing to admit. “Yes, I am,” he replies, in a deep voice that’s more caramel than gravel. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Soonyoung replies in Korean. He turns a little towards the other, hand in his pocket, and gives him an equally warm smile in return.

“Ah. It’s nice to hear that again,” the guy says. He scratches the back of his head in a sheepish manner. “I’ve been travelling the past few months and you don’t hear much of the mother tongue in Budapest.” He adjusts his glasses a little, but it inches down his nose anyway.

“You travel a lot, then?” Soonyoung tries to sound casual. They’re both still looking at the painting but their stances are inclined towards each other to maintain the conversation. Soonyoung sees the other sneaking glances at him when he thinks he’s not looking, and he tries not to give away a smile.

“Here and there. Mostly Europe the past few months. How about you?” Soonyoung thinks the way his nose crinkles is ridiculous. “Have you been in Venice for long?”

“No. I just got in a few hours ago.”

“Oh,” the other says. He tugs a little on the collar of his sweater. “Are you, I mean, are you with anyone?”

Soonyoung smirks a little. “Very subtle.”

The guy chuckles slowly, the pink dusting across his cheeks a pretty color against the dark of his clothes. “I’m not very good in that department. Subtlety.” He looks at Soonyoung then, and the way he stares has Soonyoung feeling a delicious kind of warmth in his stomach. Normally he tries to keep business and pleasure separate, especially on the job, but the guy is standing there, shy smile and daring eyes, looking like he wants to devour Soonyoung whole, and the way he looks has Soonyoung itching to return the favor. Soonyoung’s fingers curl in his pocket.

He takes a step back, though, and another sip of champagne. “Do you like this painting?”

The guy glances at it. “The Degas? It’s a nice piece. The lines are exquisite.”

“Are you sad you missed out on it, then?” Soonyoung asks, voice low.

“Hmmm?” the guy murmurs. He shrugs carefully, gives Soonyoung a measured look. “This isn’t really the piece I’m looking for. But I hope it enjoys its new home.”

Soonyoung clears his throat. “Do you admire art?” It’s getting more difficult to maintain a casual tone.

The guy chuckles. “I do.”

“What kind of art?”

He shrugs and gives Soonyoung a very meaningful glance. “All kinds of art. Especially when they require my particular appreciation.” He tilts his head at him and smiles, almost challengingly.

Soonyoung tries hard not to shudder as he stares down at the last few mouthfuls of champagne in his glass. What the hell. Fuck it.

He downs the rest of his glass in one swallow before placing it on a passing waiter’s tray without even looking. He fishes a pen and a card from his pocket, scribbling something on it. He walks past the guy, tucking it coolly into his jacket. The scent he catches briefly is clean, like summer rain. It’s the summer rain Soonyoung thinks of as he heads out of the gallery to call a cab.

 

❧  ❧  ❧

 

Venice is a city he’s always enjoyed working in. There is always a crowd of tourists to ensure that he gets around mostly undetected, and enough history and architecture to assuage the inner romantic in his soul. Seokmin’s always told him he was a pragmatist but Soonyoung disagrees; nothing says romance like a stroll through a centuries-old city caught between the old and the new.

The hotel he’s staying at, the Cavalieri di Venezia, is a stone’s throw away from the Rialto bridge, but Soonyoung isn’t interested in sightseeing. Not this time. He walks quickly through the lavish lobby, bracketed by potted plants and a row of sparkling chandeliers. The concierge at the front desk nods at him pleasantly; he gives him a casual wave before bounding into the elevator.

He doesn’t know what’s possessed him, but it’s been awhile since he’s last had sex. There was something about this guy that has him all worked up, even though there’s a niggling feeling at the back of his mind that tells him to be careful. He’s always careful, he thinks to himself, annoyed. Maybe it was spending too much time with Seokmin and Minghao being adorable and lovey-dovey that has him all itchy, but he’s fucking or getting fucked before he works his next job lest he gets distracted and loses concentration when he needs it most.

He shrugs out of his blazer as soon as his keycard lets him into his suite. It’s pretty ostentatious, even by European standards, but he likes having space to move around, especially when he’s warming up before a long night. He opens the closet by the door and hangs it carefully, before making his way to the table in the middle of the room, where a bottle of Merlot and a bottle opener lay. He twists off the cork with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to wealth, before finding and pouring a few swallows into two glasses.

He’s just about placed the second glass back on the table when he hears the doorbell ring, a discreet sound that has him looking up and over his shoulder. He bites his lip, trying not to look too eager, before checking his reflection in the hallway mirror and opening the door.

The guy from the gallery is standing on the other side, and Soonyoung realizes all of a sudden that he doesn’t know this man--he could be an axe murderer, a serial killer, or worse, a tax attorney or something. But he’s standing there, tall and easy and gorgeous, and desire rolls through Soonyoung so suddenly that he’s momentarily staggered.

Well who gives a fuck? He knows martial arts anyway.

“Hi,” Soonyoung breathes. He steps closer to the other, so close that he notices that he has to tilt his head all the way back to look into his face, such is their height difference. His nose crinkle is worse from this angle but he smells even better like this, the summer rain underpinned by a musky scent that arrows straight into Soonyoung’s groin.

“Hi yourself,” the guy replies, in a deep husky tone that’s laced with want. Soonyoung is struggling to keep himself casual and nonchalant when all he wants to do is swallow this guy whole and get rid of this itch. “Nice place.”

“Thanks,” Soonyoung says, leaning casually against the door jamb. He reaches up, takes the guy’s glasses off, and hands it to him. The guy blinks owlishly, and Soonyoung smiles. He slouches towards him, his face inching closer, until all that separates them is a breath.

“Can I come in?” he whispers, and Soonyoung can’t help the slight shiver.

“I wouldn’t have asked you to come if I didn’t,” Soonyoung murmurs, and all of a sudden he’s tired of all this pretense. With one hand, he grabs the other’s nape and pulls him closer until their lips meet.

They both groan into the kiss, bodies coming together as Soonyoung pulls him into his suite by the shirtfront and shuts the door behind him. He briefly thinks about setting a mood and the two wine glasses on the table, but the guy has his arms around him, aiming low until he has his ass in his grasp and Soonyoung tries desperately not to keen as he presses their hips together, the friction nearly destroying him from the inside. Soonyoung moans as they try and maneuver around the living room, mouths meeting sloppily, tongues rubbing and slipping over each other’s. He tugs the guy’s sweater upwards until he can feel warm skin under his fingers, and he splays his fingers over every crevice he can reach.

Soonyoung gasps as the other latches onto the skin below his ear, sucking gently. “Hey,” the guy murmurs into his ear all of a sudden. “You know what would be great? A bed.”

Soonyoung lets out a short laugh, giving the guy a little shove before tugging the sweater over his head and tossing it to the side. The guy’s hair settles around his face, which is even softer without the glasses. It’s a good face, Soonyoung thinks, before he angles his head to the right. “The bedroom’s this way.”

“Cool.” The guy smiles, almost charmingly, before he takes Soonyoung’s nape and brings his face closer to his. Their lips meet again, less frantic this time, and Soonyoung doesn’t want to think of it as sweet. This is just him getting laid by a cute guy, nothing more. He tugs the guy to move with him through the archway leading into the suite’s bedroom, not anticipating that the guy somehow isn’t very canny with directions while he’s trying to meld faces with him.

“Ow, shit, fuck, I’m sorry--”

“That was my foot.”

“Ugh, I’m terrible, crap, ow! Shit!”

Ordinarily, Soonyoung is far more straightforward with his one-night stands. Undress, fuck, consider another round depending on the situation, go to sleep. This guy ticks all his usual boxes, so he doesn’t understand why something akin to warmth nestles itself in the center of his chest when the guy bangs his foot against the doorway.

“You’re a clumsy one,” he notes, not unkindly. He’s trying to mask a grin. The guy looks down into his face, the beet red of his cheeks visible even in the dark and even as he’s rooted in place, trying to unbutton Soonyoung’s dress shirt.

“Shut up, I’m here for some dick, you’re not allowed to judge me,” he scoffs, in a faux offended tone that just sounds funny in his deep rumbly voice. Soonyoung laughs and helps him with the last of the buttons, shrugging out of it before they kiss again, stumbling backwards onto the king-sized bed his suite affords him.

Soonyoung forgot he left the curtains drawn, so moonlight filters in through the window, hitting him in the face. He blinks, adjusting to the sudden light. The guy is looking down at him, an unreadable expression on his face. It makes Soonyoung feel exposed, like he’s being studied and judged. He inhales, softly, when the guy reaches down and cradles his jaw in his hands, and his eyes flutter shut. The guy lowers his face and presses their lips together chastely, for a beat or two; the resulting vulnerability makes Soonyoung’s stomach clutch.

He grasps the guy’s wrists, curls his fingers over the circumference of them, and drags them away from his face. He bucks his hips up, insistent, until the other moans into his mouth and shoves a hand into Soonyoung’s pants. Fingers wrap around him and Soonyoung gasps, his hips bucking into the other’s as his own fingers find and grip the sheets beneath him. He throws his head back, and closes his eyes.

 

❧  ❧  ❧

 

When Soonyoung opens his eyes, many hours later, it’s the middle of the night. He hears the tiny beeping of his phone alarm somewhere on the floor of his room and curses under his breath, before his body remembers and reminds him of how he spent his last few hours. Oh.

Oh.

He lifts his head, wincing lightly. He’s underneath the heavy ornate covers of his bed, the comforter weighty against his bare legs and hips. He sits up, stretches. God, he feels good and loose, aches aside. He pinks slightly, remembering just how much they exercised the sound proofing and the discretion of the hotel. He doesn’t believe he’s had sex that good in a long time; the way the other looked underneath him, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek as he moved over him, the stuttered groans… that’s a memory he’s tucking into his brain for a long time.

He glances to his right, but the covers on that side of the bed are pristine and tucked in, looking almost untouched. His eyebrows furrow. He peeks over the side of the bed, but it’s only his clothes that make a trail from the door to the floor of the bed. Huh. He pads out of bed to his slacks on the floor, making sure to turn off the cellphone alarm.

Five minutes and a cursory glance around the suite tells him that the guy is gone, one of the wine glasses on the table empty.

(He never even caught his name.)

Soonyoung shrugs to himself, trying to ignore the pang of disappointment that has somehow lodged itself in his throat; he swallows, before drawing the windows closed and walking, naked, into the marbled bathroom. He steps into the shower stall, sets the heat on high. _It’s just as well_ , he thinks to himself, as the steam hits his back, soothing his muscles. Itch scratched. Now he has his focus back. And he needs it -- he can’t afford to keep putting off this job until it becomes too complicated, or he gets too careless.

He steps out of the shower, towel around his shoulders, comfortable in his nakedness. He slips on dark jeans and pulls over a skintight black long-sleeved spandex shirt--his usual attire for jobs like these. He runs a hand through his hair, shiny black after his bath, and tries to shake it free of excess water while he grabs his backpack with all his gear. He’s still on schedule but if he doesn’t leave soon, he’s going to be late.

He’s not going to be late; not for this one.

The lobby is still well-lit, though quieter at 3 o’clock in the morning. Tourists, particularly the affluent ones, enjoy their beauty sleep. He hears the distant buzzing of the bar closing down, but he ignores it, only tipping his head at the same concierge manning the desk. He walks carefully out the door, bundled up in a leather jacket with a fur trim to guard him against the elements of an Italian autumn.

He melts into the streets, streets he’s walked tens of times before. This isn’t his first time; he’s spent plenty of hours getting to know the back alleys of Venice until he makes it to his destination: a twenty-four hour garage near the outskirts of the city where he has a rental parked. He gives the sleepy attendant a tip before he drives into the night, heading towards Treviso.

The destination is a house belonging to a Signore Ricardo Pennetta, an Italian businessman who just so happened to have purchased the lovely Degas he was looking at early on in the evening. Signore Pennetta also happened to be the owner of the museum housing the San Pietro Diamond.

There are many things he thinks about when he thinks about this particular diamond. It’s true what he’s told Seokmin--he’s pulled bigger jobs and heists, stolen many other things more valuable than this one. The San Pietro is a quiet gem, barely two hundred carats in quality, but there are people who whisper that it’s cut from the heart of another famous gemstone in history--the Great Mogul. The mystery surrounding it fascinates Soonyoung deeply, and the idea of owning something that is even remotely related to the Great Mogul makes it precious beyond telling. The diamond, icy blue and imperfectly shaped, is housed in Il Museo as one of the exhibit’s prized possessions, but what it is rumored to be isn’t being proclaimed by its proprietor. The secrecy, the mystique of it, that makes it appealing to Soonyoung, and what makes him think that it would be the treasure of his little collection so far. That is what has made him spend the better part of four years planning the perfect job--he had to have that diamond.

(But whenever he thinks about the San Pietro, he remembers things too close to his heart that he doesn’t dare voice, things only someone like Seokmin, who has been with him since the beginning, knows. But not even Seokmin is fully aware of what the diamond means to him.

He remembers seeing it for the first time when he was eighteen. Perfect in its lopsided cuts and imbalance, perched precariously in a glass case. “This is history’s biggest secret, Soonyoung,” he remembers being told. “This is a legacy-in-waiting.”

He remembers long auburn hair messily pulled away from a lovely face, a kind face that laughs easily and sees too much. He remembers being taught the difference between a copy and a real gem, a reproduction and a masterpiece, and he remembers feeling a sense of home when his own felt alien to him, despite his parents’ attempt to give him everything he ever wanted.

But along with that feeling of home, he also remembers the feeling of quiet devastation when he remembers opening a door and seeing… nothing. Not a trace. Like he was never even there in the first place.)

He pulls up a few blocks away from a stunning villa, somber and quiet, the waters of its dock dark but clear. There’s something about the stillness that nudges Soonyoung off-kilter, and he shakes his head. He’s planned this for years; he knows everything there is to know about this job. He just needs to relax. He breathes in and out, cursing Seokmin under his breath because he knows that the other would be glaring at him for being too emotional about a job that is already weighty with baggage. He tucks the car into a glade before he grabs his bag and walks briskly onto the Pennetta villa grounds.

Immediately, he’s struck by how silent everything is. He furrows his brow; this is odd. There’s supposed to be security around this particular perimeter, and yet nobody is here. The path to the patio back door is free of any obstacle. Not even the guard dog that’s supposed to frequent the side of the pool is there.

He slips up to the door and is about to punch in the sequence that he managed to secure, but the alarm doesn’t even blink in acknowledgment. He pushes at the door carefully, and it gives. It’s strange--so strange that it makes him think that he’s being horribly set-up, but he’s gone too far to turn back now--but he makes his way up the dark staircase nonetheless, where he knows the office, and Pennetta’s vault where the painting should be stored after acquiring it from the auction, is located. He anticipates the usual: alarms, surveillance cameras and passcodes. What he gets is an unencumbered path.

The door is slightly ajar, and that should have been the first warning. He’s either really lucky, or something has gone terribly wrong.

He slinks into the office quietly, almost on autopilot. The windows are open, letting the moonlight stream inside, hitting the wide open safe in the middle of the back wall. The safe is filled with wads of cash, boxes of beautiful and ornate jewelry. But he can tell, even from where he is, that the Degas is not in there, when he knows for a fact that it’s supposed to be.

A chill runs through him. Oh hell no.

On top of the shelf, one thing sits, unlike any of the others. A tiny china fox figurine.

Soonyoung marches up to the safe. The china fox sits nearly at eye level, and he bristles seeing the tiny smile on his little china face.

What. The. Fuck.

He stares hard at the figure for a good minute, hardly believing that he’s actually shaking with anger. A distant dog bark jolts him out of his self-imposed staring contest, and he regains his senses, shaking his head. He swipes the little china fox and hightails it out of the house, making sure to close the patio door behind him.

 

❧  ❧  ❧

 

“Will you stop?”

It was almost dawn by the time Soonyoung reached his hotel. He threw his bag angrily at the nearby sofa set before grabbing his phone. The eight hour difference between Venice and Seoul meant he’d catch the tail-end of the lunch shift, but he didn’t really give a damn. Seokmin’s opening peals of laughter ringing out over speakerphone after he relayed what happened, however, makes him regret his life choices even more.

“Hell no,” Seokmin splutters. “Someone beat the great Kwon Soonyoung to the prize. It’s fucking hilarious if you think about it.”

“Ha,” Soonyoung replies snippily. Seokmin is the only person he allows to talk to him like this.

“You have to admit, it’s a little impressive.”

“I’m not admitting anything,” Soonyoung snaps. “Someone literally just walked in, opened the safe and took the painting out. It’s either an inside job or someone got lucky.”

“By planning an hour ahead of you? That’s extremely fortunate.”

“Who even leaves a mark or a signature anymore?” Soonyoung mutters out loud. “It’s corny and sloppy and, and, and think about the fingerprints!”

“Oh my god, you get beat the ONE time. It happens.” Seokmin is trying to be calm and reassuring, which Soonyoung acknowledges, but a series of thoughts are buzzing about in his brain, and they make him nervous.

“Seok, I was thinking…”

“Oh boy, here we go.”

“What if someone’s pulling the same job as I am? What if Pennetta isn’t a random target and this isn’t just some enthusiast?”

“Soonyoung--”

“What if someone is trying to steal the San Pietro like me? Ahead of me? And they operate like me, with a warm-up job right before the big job? Shit, I should have taken it last spring.”

“You had to attend your parents’ funeral,” Seokmin reminds him gently, and Soonyoung stops to think.

“This can’t happen to me. Not now.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, Soonyoung,” Seokmin says, the plea evident in his tone.

“I can’t let anyone beat me to the San Pietro,” Soonyoung muses out loud. He continues to pace, pulling to mind the things he needs to accelerate his plan but would still allow him some degree of leeway. “I just have to shuffle some things around and I can move ahead of schedule. Three days instead of a week.”

“That is the very definition of doing something stupid.”

“Bye Seok,” Soonyoung says, already distracted. He picks up the phone and ends the call before Seokmin can say anything.

He scowls, staring at the china fox on top of the living room table, before heading towards the still open bottle of wine. What a night. He tugs the cork off, and chugs straight from the top. To hell with the niceties and the time of day. He needs a drink desperately.

 

❧  ❧  ❧

 

The sun is out when Soonyoung hails a gondola to take him near the museum that afternoon, but it doesn’t do enough to dent the terrible mood he’s in. He sulks even as the water lapping at the side of the boat lulls him into a quiet sense of melancholy.

He tips generously as they pull up and he gets off near a church that is more tourist attraction than place of worship. He walks briskly towards the area near the east entrance of the museum with his hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket.

The building that makes up Il Museo is as boring as a museum named as such, a dark white tenement with giant columns bordering the entrances on the east and west as the only interesting feature. It’s set in the middle of a very tourist-driven zone, so there is a smattering of very nice eateries where one can seat one’s self to surveil museum activities without drawing too much attention. He chooses a trattoria this time, having identified a hankering for some nice pasta to distract himself from the disappointment of the morning.

He’s making his way through the maze of tiny tables pushed together when he sees someone sitting in the perfect surveillance spot at the corner of the al fresco dining area. Indignation bubbles up his throat--how terrible is this DAY honestly?--when he realizes that the slouch of the shoulders and the softness of the back of the head looked familiar.

It’s him. The guy. Sitting there, in a comfortable looking navy blue sweater, sipping at a coffee and tapping away at a computer. He looks refreshed and focused, eyeglasses shoved up and perched on the crown of his head, making the hair covering his forehead splinter in different directions.

Soonyoung’s eyes widen momentarily before they curve in pleasant surprise. What a coincidence.

He’s making his way to join him, thinking of maybe enticing him back to his hotel for another round, when the buzzing in his ears command him to stop and think about what he just said.

Coincidence.

He stops three tables behind the guy, peering closely, observing for awhile. He’s typing non-stop into a laptop, but his eyes are trained on a fixed point. Soonyoung follows his line of vision and it lands on the east entrance of the museum.

It hits him all of a sudden. Of course. He narrows his eyes. Nobody knew his plans, but all of his gear was stashed in one place: his room. Nobody had access to his room, except… Fuck.

Of all the guys in the world he had to fuck, it had to be a fellow thief.

A surge of anger threatens to choke him, and he intends to put it to good use.

He marches up to the occupied table, and plops into the chair. The surface wobbles, and the guy startles, glasses falling onto his nose, hands reaching out to ensure that the coffee in his cup doesn’t spill over to his keyboard. He looks at Soonyoung, surprise in his eyes, but it melts into pleasure. Regrettably for Soonyoung, he is still incredibly attractive.

“It’s you.”

“Cut the crap,” Soonyoung glares, before pulling the china fox figurine from his pocket and putting it on the table.

The guy stares at the little fox, and there is a good five seconds of silence between them before he speaks.

“Oh.”

“Oh indeed,” Soonyoung snaps back. He leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers together, waits for answers.

“No wonder the security report failed to mention the fox. Interesting,” the guy muses out loud, shaking his head amusedly.

“You’re not even going to deny this.” Soonyoung swallows the hurt crawling up his throat. He literally has no right to feel bad about being used, but here he is, trying hard not to be.

“I don’t see the point. I know you’re a smart guy; to deny it would be insulting to you.”

“Don’t flatter me.”

The guy shrugs, looks into Soonyoung’s face, and smiles warmly. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t think we were both here for that painting. I just thought it was a happy coincidence, bumping into you in that art gallery.” He inches forward, looking like he wants to reach out and touch Soonyoung’s shoulder.

Soonyoung glares, a silent threat.

The guy sighs, holds both hands up. “Look, I came here to do a job. Last night… that was just a weird kind of bonus.”

“And the poking into my things and figuring out my plans and ruining a carefully thought out operation?” Soonyoung retorts.

The guy shakes his head. “I didn’t do any of that. The Pennetta job and you and me, that’s all coincidence. But I already knew who you were when we saw each other at the auction.”

“What?”

“Kwon Soonyoung, cat burglar, jewel and art thief extraordinaire,” the guy says, rolling off the closest thing Soonyoung has to a resumé.

Soonyoung’s eyes try not to betray any surprise. “Who the fuck are you? How do you know who I am?”

The guy leans forward conspiratorially, fingers beckoning him closer. “If I told you, then I’d have to kill you.” He beams a little, proud of himself.

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “God, I walked right into that one. Shame on me,” he mutters to himself. “That’s the last time I’m ever sleeping with anyone while on the job.”

“That’s a shame; I was going to ask you what you were doing after this,” the guy muses out loud, smirking cheekily.

“Ha.” Soonyoung refuses to be charmed.

The guy wiggles his eyebrows at him, leaning back and crossing arms over his chest. “So. What are _you_ doing here?”

“It’s a nice day out and I’m taking a walk, what do you think I’m doing here?”

He shrugs. “It looks to me you’re conducting routine surveillance but that’s just me.”

Soonyoung is close to losing his temper. “Look, I don’t know who you are, or what you’re trying to do. I don’t even know if you’re Interpol or some insurance investigator or something trying to lure people out, but leave me alone.”

The guy sits up, folds his hands on the table. “What if I told you our operations need not be mutually exclusive?”

“ _I’m_ mutually exclusive.”

“Soonyoung, you’re stubborn.”

“You don’t get to call me Soonyoung,” he snaps. “I don’t know you. I don’t even know your name. You’re a good lay, I’ll give you that, but I don’t mix pleasure and business.”

“It’s Wonwoo.”

“What?”

“My name. It’s Jeon Wonwoo,” the guy says. He smiles, simply, as if he had simply been waiting for Soonyoung to ask. “As for what I do, I’m a tech guy. I work with computers. And everything to do with computers.”

Soonyoung purses his lips. “So you’re a nerd.”

“I’m a nerd who’s been able to cause approximately 4.8 billion dollars worth of lost and destroyed property,” Wonwoo says, shrugging.

Soonyoung snorts. “Now you’re just bragging.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I thought you were one of us, but you’re just one of those geeks with a laptop and too much time on their hands.”

Wonwoo raises his eyebrow. “This geek managed to steal the Degas from right under your nose.”

Soonyoung pinks at that, and scowls. “Beginner’s luck.”

“I’m not a beginner, and this isn’t luck. I’ve been doing this for awhile now,” Wonwoo says, levelly. He tilts his head, peering closely at Soonyoung. “I think this job is important to you.”

What the fuck, does he have _San Pietro_ tattooed on his forehead or something? Jesus Christ. “It’s a job like any other job.”

Wonwoo’s eyes soften. “You can tell everyone that but I’m just the same as you and I know. I know what the one job is. That one job that you spend years building up to. That one job that all other jobs lead to.”

Who _was_ this guy and what was his deal? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Wonwoo shrugs, leans back again placidly. “We’re not that different, is all.”

Soonyoung looks away from Wonwoo. There is something about this guy that keeps knocking him off balance while he’s trying desperately to keep his feet planted on the ground. “What’s your job then?”

“That’s a long story,” Wonwoo chuckles, and he says nothing more.

Soonyoung is strangely affronted. “Fine. Keep it. Just stay away from me, and this museum.” He stands up and storms out, taking the fox figurine with him; he ignores Wonwoo calling out his name from behind him. He’ll take on the west entrance today instead.

 

❧  ❧  ❧

 

Soonyoung adjusts the collar of his deliveryman outfit. “I’ll take this crate,” he tells one of the other men in Italian, a gruff-looking guy with a mustache. His nametag read Stefano. Stefano nods dismissively, too busy checking off things on his list.

It’s after midnight, and Il Museo was scheduled to receive a new shipment for a new exhibit: a bunch of sarcophagi from some region in Egypt. He’s not particular on the details; artifacts were never his thing. Especially centuries-old preserved human remains. A definite pass. Still, it was the perfect opportunity, and it took him pulling all of his invisible strings to have the shipment arrive four days too early. The resulting confusion would be the perfect distraction.

Arguments are already starting to break out between the night security detail and the deliverymen about whether or not they’re expecting the delivery and who should they talk to about this, and Soonyoung ducks into the entrance discreetly, the cart with the crate in front of him.

He abandons the crate in the delivery foyer and slips into the nearby corridor, dark and empty. He’s been in this building so many times over the last few years that he thinks he can navigate it in his sleep. There are four areas of the museum covering different eras in history, each of them spread out over three floors. There are no public elevators; only a service one that is used for bringing up heavy exhibits to upper floors. The museum is old-fashioned in appearance, but not in security—they update their system every few weeks because Pennetta is obsessive about it. He even owns shares in the company that owns the museum’s security system.

The diamond is located in the east wing of the first floor, in the relics of Italian history section. The San Pietro diamond is so named after its discovery in the eponymous town near Verona, and was said by the museum to bring luck and prosperity to those who owned it.

(“That’s just an open invitation, Soonyoung,” he remembers being told. Jeonghan, for that is who he is remembering, laughs—it’s a strange thing, his laugh. It is both mirthless and mischievous, dry and dashing. “Take it for me. For us.” Soonyoung remembers an arm hooking around his neck, and feeling that he’d do anything in his power to keep it there.)

He turns a few corners and ends up in the room where he’d stashed his gear earlier. He unzips the deliveryman outfit and shimmies out of it en route to the exhibit with the large vase containing his bag, the black bodysuit underneath it hugging him like a second skin. He runs a hand through his hair and shoves the uniform in his bag, taking the retractable rope and laser glass cutter out of it and hanging them off the belt cinched tight around his waist. He reaches out to remove the cover of the vent he knows connects to the ventilation shaft leading into the San Pietro exhibit room, and climbs in.

The small flashlight he remembers to bring along provides very minimal lighting, so he relies mostly on his canny sense of direction rather than his vision. He wrinkles his nose at the state of the shafts; it was in serious need of some good dusting, although he is very grateful that the museum currently had no rodent problems. He remembers taking anti-allergy medicine earlier this evening and praises himself internally for his foresight; otherwise, he’d have given away his position with the incredible amount of sneezing he would be doing.

He crawls through the vents speedily, stopping after about seven minutes at one that he is relatively certain is located right above the exhibit.

“Amateur,” Jeonghan would have snorted, at the terrible structural planning. He shakes his head. Jeonghan has been popping into his head more often lately.

He pries open the vent until it springs open on the outside; he unspools the rope a few meters before dropping it through the hole, looping it through a slot in the ceiling that he’s pretty sure will bear his weight. He peeks into the darkness before he wraps gloved hands around the rope and slides down slowly.

He’s about half-way into the room (the ceilings are high but not intimidatingly so) when he hears someone stage whisper his name.

“Soonyoung!”

His head whips around frantically, before his eyes settle on the corner where the voice came from. His eyes narrow at the bespectacled figure with a laptop, dressed in a bomber jacket and a beanie.

“What the fuck, Wonwoo?” he hisses. “What the hell are you doing here? This is my diamond.”

“Dude, I’m here to save both our asses,” Wonwoo retorts in a similar tone. Soonyoung looks around but it’s hard to maintain his balance while he’s spinning around on the rope. “Don’t touch the glass; they installed a new laser system just this afternoon around the box of every single display here.”

He points in different directions behind Soonyoung. “Your glass cutter would have activated it. Also they changed the schedule of rounds an hour ago and right about now they have security two rooms from here. You wouldn’t have been able to get away in time.”

 _Dammit_ , Soonyoung thinks. He curses under his breath, looks up from where he came from. So much work for naught. He looks back down at Wonwoo, who is still sitting in his corner, legs tucked underneath him. “How do you know all of this?”

Wonwoo smiles, still typing away at his laptop. “That’s what geeks do.”

“I don’t believe you,” Soonyoung says stubbornly, but it’s hard to muster much dignity while hanging from a rope.

“I don’t care if you don’t believe me, but if you want the diamond, we can do this together,” Wonwoo tells him. He stands up, looking careful not to move around too much. “If you insist on touching that box with your laser cutter, I swear, I’m tackling you out of the air myself.”

“Supposing you’re right,” Soonyoung mutters. “How do you intend to get us out of this situation?”

Wonwoo grins. “I’d need your help.”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes, “Of course you do. Is the floor safe? I’m coming down.”

Wonwoo nods, and Soonyoung slides down the rest of the way. He hits the floor smoothly, nearly soundlessly, and he flexes his aching fingers as soon as he stands. “Alright. I’m listening.”

“I’m stuck in this corner as the laser sensors are on,” Wonwoo explains. He types a sequence into his laptop, and the lasers blink into vision. They’re a maze of intimidating criss-crossing lines that look lethal. The closest one to Soonyoung is about a foot away from his face. “I’ve managed to stop their random rotation but the alarm will sound once it’s tripped. I need someone to press a series of buttons on the input panel by the door--”

“What door?” Soonyoung interrupts.

Wonwoo points to the far wall. “That door; if I do that, the system resets. When the system goes down, you have ninety seconds to get the diamond out of the glass. Since this isn’t the priciest exhibit, when the system resets, security will check out at least three other rooms before this one. By the time they check in here, we should already be walking away from this place.” Wonwoo chuckles after that lengthy explanation. “Simple, right?”

“How do I know you can do everything you just said?” Soonyoung asks, without venom.

“You don’t. You just have to trust your gut.”

Soonyoung sighs. It’s funny how quickly he’d wrapped his brain around including Wonwoo in this plan. He could very well leave him here to be caught but something about his willingness to share his expertise with Soonyoung (and definitely not how adorable his ears looked peeking from underneath his beanie) has him more open than he was since dropping into the room. He strains his eyes to look at the back wall, locates a little electronic board. “Which panel, that one?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo replies. “I think there’s another vent near the door there. You can just climb back up where you came from and head to the vent on the opposite wall.”

“No need,” Soonyoung replies. He’s looking thoughtfully at the patterns in the lasers until he finds what he’s looking for. After picking a spot, he tugs up the sleeves of his jumpsuit, stretches his neck, and moves.

(“You’re a natural, kid!” Jeonghan calls out to him as Soonyoung moves through the laser simulator in his little nest of an apartment.

“No fair, he’s like a black belt in taekwondo,” Seokmin groans from the spot next to him, his arms sore after having to do twenty push-ups for every laser he tripped.

“You don’t learn this kind of movement in martial arts, Seok,” Jeonghan muses. “This is something that’s God-given. A gift.”

“Somehow I think God would take offense at you using that term to describe what I’m pretty sure is a crime.”

“God would think of this as an art, and he appreciates art.”

“God also told Moses that one of the ten commandments was not to steal, so.” Seokmin beams at him, and Jeonghan sneers in return, knowing Seokmin got to have the last word.

“Are you two done now?” Soonyoung says, breathing a little heavy as he manages to get through the lasers unharmed.

“Never,” Jeonghan says firmly, but he claps at Soonyoung’s accomplishment. “That was great, Soonyoung. You’re really good at this.”

Soonyoung shrugs, ears heating up from the compliment. “It’s nothing; I guess I just see patterns in these things really well.”

“Better than Seokmin here,” Jeonghan says, clapping Seokmin’s shoulder. Seokmin yelps.

“Dammit Jeonghan, my shoulder!”)

It helps that the lasers aren’t moving, he thinks; it’s just like body memory for Soonyoung. He sees a path through the lasers; it’s a little complex but he can manage. He bends forward and executes a tight somersault, and then a cartwheel; when he lands, he spins twice, sidestepping in and out of the lines without touching them. He flips again, body curved and held in mid-air for a good second before he pumps his arms to catapult him further away. He lands on a spot without wobbling, and moves to his right. It’s like he’s dancing to a rhythm inside his head, spinning and twisting and contorting until he does one last cartwheel and finds himself in the one unit of space in front of the panel.

“What do I press here?” he asks Wonwoo over his shoulder, a little breathless from exertion.

“Uhmmm…” Wonwoo says, before shaking his head and rattling of a series of numbers. Soonyoung punches them into the panel in sequence. The lasers fade away as soon as he puts in the last number. He lets out a breath of relief on an exhale, before he smiles to himself. That was fun.

He turns to look in Wonwoo’s direction, and steps carefully in a path that used to contain lasers. Nothing happens. So Wonwoo was right. “Nice job,” Soonyoung tells him, dabbing the sweat off his brow as he walks to Wonwoo’s corner, where the other is standing, still dumbfounded.

“Uhhh,” Wonwoo stammers. “Thanks. You too. By the way. That was. That was really. Wow. Great. A real turn-on. Wow.”

Soonyoung snorts, but smiles appreciatively at the compliment. “Flirt later, hotshot. I have a diamond to swipe.” He turns to the display case for the first time that evening. The diamond is just as imperfectly lovely as he remembers, and it winks at him in the dark.

“Hello,” he whispers reverently under his breath.

It takes fifteen seconds for him to use his laser on the box. There should be more pomp and circumstance, he thinks, as he reaches into the case and his fingers close around the gem. It is cool to the touch, rough cuts and indentations jutting into his palms. He peers at it closely, the feeling in his chest indescribable. So many years leading up to this, and the adrenaline of the twist in his plans has him feeling a little breathless. Isn’t he supposed to be feeling fireworks? Was he supposed to hear some sort of ding of accomplishment, the sound of a pencil scratching over a giant metaphorical to-do list marking this task as done? He’s unsure about where to go from here. He stays like this, standing stiffly, a mix of emotions.

He’s startled out of his reverie by Wonwoo grabbing him and his bag and shoving him into the door behind him. “There’s time for that later,” Wonwoo tells him. “We have to go before the alarm sounds.”

He grasps Soonyoung’s hand and runs, dragging Soonyoung behind him. They don’t stop moving, running as silently as they can manage through dark hallways and through a few more turns until they find a door next to a service elevator. Wonwoo grunts and throws his whole weight into shoving the door open; it leads to another hallway. At this point, Soonyoung has fully placed his future in Wonwoo’s hands, letting himself be led out of the museum, his mind blank and still on the diamond in his hand.

The hallway opens into a room that looks like the staff breakroom, if Soonyoung’s memory of the blueprints are accurate. Wonwoo shoves Soonyoung in front of him and pushes him through the door on the far exit. “We’re almost out,” he whispers. “We should hide until the alarm rings.” Soonyoung remembers this corridor as the one he’d been in earlier, near the delivery foyer and the backdoor staff entrance, on the opposite end of the museum.

He’s barely looked around at his surroundings before Wonwoo has his wrist clamped in his grip again, arms shoving him into the janitor’s closet opposite the entrance. Inside, it is quiet and dark, and Soonyoung can’t hear anything except for the heavy breathing between the two of them. Soonyoung jams the diamond into his bag for safekeeping.

“Wouldn’t there be security here?” Soonyoung whispers at him, and all of a sudden he feels Wonwoo’s finger against his lip. Scowling, Soonyoung resists biting the offending digit.

“Give it five more seconds,” Wonwoo murmurs in his low voice, and almost as if on cue the alarm sounds as the system resets.

Soonyoung holds his breath as he hears the heavy outside door open and the footsteps of about seven to ten security personnel barreling through, rushed Italian streaming into their ears. They wait exactly forty seconds from the sound of the last person’s footsteps rushing through to step out of the closet and hurtle through the staff entrance. They run, as quickly as their legs can carry them, as far away from the museum as they can manage.

It’s approximately two thirty in the morning and Wonwoo’s hand is still around his wrist. “What’s your getaway?” Soonyoung asks him, the night air whipping at his face as they sprint through the quiet streets.

Wonwoo breathes heavily through his mouth, looking wildly around before pointing. “There.”

“You thought to get away in a fucking gondola at two in the morning? Did you not think this through?”

Wonwoo glares at him from his right side, their running slowing. “Less complaining, more ideas.”

Soonyoung jerks his head towards one street corner. “Come with me.” Soonyoung takes Wonwoo’s wrist this time, hand sliding down into his and fingers linking subconsciously; they duck into several quiet alleys until Soonyoung points to a dumpster. Tucked behind it is a motorcycle and a cardboard box. Soonyoung stops abruptly and gets onto his knees next to the box, ripping it open as Wonwoo braces himself against the wall, trying not to dry heave. He rifles through the box and takes out a helmet.

He holds the helmet out to Wonwoo. “Get on.”

Wonwoo has, by this time, stopped wanting to look like he wants to puke, but he looks anxiously at the motorcycle. “What?” The look he shoots at the bike is downright suspicious.

“Don’t make me regret this and get on,” Soonyoung shakes the helmet at him and Wonwoo takes it cautiously. Soonyoung gets on first, putting a long trenchcoat on over his jumpsuit, and Wonwoo follows suit, wrapping arms around Soonyoung’s waist tightly. Soonyoung tries not to be distracted by the press of him against him. He kicks once at the motorcycle and it roars into life. Silently, they ride into the night.

 

❧  ❧  ❧

 

They ditch the bike a few street corners away from the hotel and walk briskly the rest of the way, trying not to draw too much attention to themselves. The streets are quiet but not bare, and Soonyoung tries to keep his mind off the diamond in his backpack, but he can’t hear much over the ringing in his ears. Every breath he inhales has him convinced that he can actually hear his blood surging through his veins. He’s had adrenaline highs before but not like this. Nothing like this. Soonyoung balls his hands into fists in his pockets and tries not to think about how shallowly he’s breathing, and how Wonwoo is less than an arm’s length away from him. He scrunches his eyes shut, desperately wills away the image from the other night, of Wonwoo throwing his head back, mouth slack, body arched deliciously.

They enter the hotel together, and Soonyoung doesn’t even think about why Wonwoo is still following him. If he was in his right mind, he would have made plans for the two of them to separate and lay low for awhile, meeting up a few days later to discuss how to divide the booty. Granted, everything had gone by so fast--a blink of an eye, really--and Soonyoung is so distracted by the feeling of his bones trying to burst out of his skin that it’s only when they’re both in the elevator and he feels Wonwoo reaching out a finger and running it down the back of his palm that he realizes that Wonwoo is still with him.

And he thinks, there are plenty of ways they can get rid of all this pent-up energy.

They barely make it through the door when Wonwoo pulls Soonyoung back against him, hands gripping his hips tightly. Soonyoung groans, head lolling back against the other’s shoulder, a hand reaching up to grab Wonwoo’s nape and drag his lips to his neck. His knees nearly buckle when Wonwoo growls softly in his ear before licking a stripe up his neck, mouthing wetly behind his ear before sucking hard and nipping, and it makes Soonyoung cry out.

There is a thrumming in his veins that manifests in an unbearable itch, and it makes him want to devour everything in his path, makes him feel everything tenfold. Soonyoung feels the hands at his hips dip lower and he lets out a keening moan when he’s gripped through his suit. His hips piston up of their own accord, and the other hand of his that isn’t currently curled tight in Wonwoo’s hair is reaching down to splay over his hands, seeking joint purchase in the pressure of warm wide palms.

Wonwoo bites a trail leading up his chin and Soonyoung meets him halfway, his tongue sweeping into Wonwoo’s to play with his. It’s as wanton as he’s ever been in his life--his limbs feel limber and all he wants to do is feel, touch, taste. He wants hands all over him, he wants to be torn apart with teeth and tongue over and over again, and he wants Wonwoo to do it. He wants Wonwoo to be the one to destroy him, but he also wants to be the one to destroy him. He wants to remember everything about how Wonwoo’s bottom lip trembles when he sucks it into his mouth, how Wonwoo hisses when Soonyoung tugs tighter at his scalp, how they grind their hips together and pant in unison at the friction. Soonyoung’s ears are filled with Wonwoo’s harsh breaths, and the deep murmurs of his name that make him grow harder in anticipation.

All of a sudden Soonyoung is consumed with that image of Wonwoo that’s been burned in his brain since the night he met him. During the past few days that he’s been working the job, the sound of Wonwoo’s hitched groan and the way he looks when his eyelashes flutter closed as he comes always surface at the most inopportune moments and it’s been distracting him terribly. Now, he wants to see if he looks just as pretty every time.

“Fuck, Wonwoo, just, here--” They spin around the room, too far-gone and dizzy to try and locate the bedroom, too wrapped up in their own want to even consider comfort. Soonyoung reaches out blindly and his fingers hit a solid surface. He turns around in Wonwoo’s grip, and lifts him up and onto the table; they share another kiss as Soonyoung runs hands up Wonwoo’s chest and down his shoulders, removing his bomber jacket in the process. Wonwoo’s back curves as Soonyoung’s fingers reach under his shirt to rub thumbs over his nipples, his heavy groan swallowed up by Soonyoung’s mouth. They separate only to divest themselves of more clothing; Wonwoo, his shirt, and Soonyoung, his coat. He feels Wonwoo grunt against his cheek as Soonyoung licks his way down, his soft murmurs giving way to breathy pants as Soonyoung impatiently hooks fingers around the waistband of his jeans and pulls.

“Jesus, Soonyoung, fuck--”  
  
“That’s the idea,” Soonyoung smirks, before he takes Wonwoo in on the other’s sharp inhale.

 

❧  ❧  ❧

 

As it happens, they don’t make it to the bedroom. Not even close. Once on the dining room table and twice more on the couch, and it’s nearly dawn by the time they finally succumb to exhaustion. Soonyoung is so tired he doesn’t even budge from when Wonwoo wraps arms around him and presses his nose against his nape, although he will fight anyone who thinks he snuggled back. Wonwoo grabs the throw from the back of the couch, places it over them as they settle.

“Don’t get used to this,” Soonyoung mumbles, before letting out a yawn. “This just means I’m really tired.”

He feels rather than hears Wonwoo’s chuckle through his chest.

“And don’t even think about leaving,” Soonyoung threatens sleepily. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

❧  ❧  ❧

 

When Soonyoung wakes up, he’s alone and completely naked save for the throw bunched up around his waist saving his modesty. He blinks several times, disoriented still. His eyes focus on his surroundings: gold-trimmed windows, clothes haphazardly thrown around, and his backpack on the floor near the door where he’d dropped it because he’d been so busy… oh.

Everything floods back with startling clarity. The museum, the diamond, the getaway, and… he blushes in spite of himself, fingers absently trailing over the red marks across his collarbone. He looks around, but his partner from last night is nowhere to be found.

His eyes widen and he bolts, naked, across the room to his backpack. He rifles around but his fingers close around something hard and cold. Relief floods through him, and he takes a moment to sit back on the couch and stare at the diamond in his palm. It’s heavy and rough, but Soonyoung has never seen anything more brilliant in his life. He’s momentarily breathless.

He did it.

(He wishes there was some way to let Jeonghan know.)

He looks up and around and it really hits him that he’s alone right now. There is no trace of Wonwoo, even though he said he wasn’t leaving. He bites his lip, tries to swallow the disappointment which is more real and more visceral than the other night. Ah well. Why trust a thief.

 _Stop_ , he tells himself. _You have the diamond. You did it. It’s the crown of your collection, you’ve accomplished your life goal before reaching the age of twenty five. Well fucking done._ He coughs and wishes he felt more of a sense of achievement.

 _How could he not have even felt him leaving this time around? They were literally pressed together, like--Fuck._ Soonyoung scowls, pink in the cheek. He covers his waist with the throw, crosses his arms over his chest and leans back onto the couch, determined to sulk awhile before calling Seokmin to let him know.

His head jerks up when he hears the door of the bedroom open behind him and he sees Wonwoo walk through it, wearing a loose shirt, boxers and looking newly showered. His round-rimmed glasses are perched at the end of his narrow nose, and he’s drinking from a large white cup.

He jolts seeing Soonyoung staring up at him from the couch. “Oh, hello.” He smiles softly, almost shyly, eyes averted from Soonyoung’s bare chest. Soonyoung wants to snort, and he also desperately wants to ignore how his heart clutches at the sight of him. “I got coffee and charged it to your room. I hope that’s okay.”

He slept through room service? What was wrong with him? Soonyoung nods, however. “That’s okay. You’re still here.”

Wonwoo coughs a little, nods. “I am. You said you wanted to talk.”

Soonyoung is suddenly incredibly aware of just how naked he is. “That I did.”

Wonwoo nods and gives him a tiny smile. “Okay. Let’s do that.”

Soonyoung shifts uncomfortably on the couch, but shimmies to make room for Wonwoo. “I, I thought you left.”

Wonwoo smiles, almost gently, before he sits on the opposite side of the couch. The sunlight behind him makes a halo around his head. “I try to keep my word as best as I can. Honor among thieves, you know.”

He inhales. “Okay, here we go. What do you know about Cygnet?”

Soonyoung nods slowly. “I know Cygnet. Everyone in the business does. Cygnet means security. That’s also the name of the security system that the museum has.”

“Right,” Wonwoo nods. “Cygnet Systems. One of the biggest names in security, a huge multinational corporation, has invented and is constantly reinventing the standards for corporate and residential security worldwide.”

Wonwoo takes another sip of his coffee. “I’m trying to bring it down.”

Whatever Soonyoung was expecting, it wasn’t this. “Excuse me?”

“I have a list,” Wonwoo says. “It’s on my laptop. Basically, it’s a list of all of Cygnet’s important investors, shareholders, and clients.” He pulls up his knees, looking much younger all of a sudden. “I’ve made it my life’s mission to not rest until that company goes down and never rises again.”

He shrugs, then smiles. “Lofty goals, huh?”

“How do you do that?”

“I steal from them,” Wonwoo states matter-of-factly. “I stage huge break-ins that show an absolute failure of the system, make sure the media gets involved to blow it out of proportion. Terrible publicity is the best publicity in this case. My stealing from them is just a means to an end. I try to make them lose confidence in the company, look around for any information I can exploit and keep that for the right time. Slowly but surely erode public and private confidence in them.”

“Why?”

Wonwoo scrunches up his nose. “I’ll explain that later.”

Soonyoung’s eyebrows knit. “So if that’s your goal, what does the San Pietro have to do with it? How do you know who I am? And what I do?”

“Ah,” Wonwoo says. He picks a little at the tassels on the edge of the sofa. “In the past few years, once or twice, we happened to overlap targets. Very similar to this week, but in those instances, I only saw you on the security feed because I didn’t need to do fieldwork for those jobs.”

Soonyoung sits back, rubbing his chin, trying to remember. “Which jobs, and when?”

Wonwoo purses his lips and tries to remember. “The last time was the Carter job in Nevada--”

“Was that why the system was wonky?” Soonyoung interrupts. He makes a face. “I practiced deactivating the latest system upgrade for a month.”  
  
“Um, you’re welcome,” Wonwoo retorted.

Soonyoung scoffs a little, but calls to mind the memories from that job. It was one of the easiest jobs in his almost ten years of being a thief, simply because he just had to walk in and out of the house with a diamond necklace owned by a haughty heiress. He’s so fond of that job that he still keeps the necklace in his home safe, even if he has no practical use for it. “Thanks, I suppose.”

“But I think, the first time I encountered you, after which I looked you up out of interest… was in Seoul. A fancy art gallery housing some Joseon dynasty scrolls. That was one of my first jobs.”

“I remember that day,” Soonyoung says under his breath. He quiets, and stares hard at Wonwoo. “You were there?”

“Not physically, no,” Wonwoo replies, before chuckling under his breath. “But I remember turning off the alarm when it tripped and sending a report to the police that it was a false trigger so that they wouldn’t show up.” He looks Soonyoung in the eye then. “I watched you on the monitors until I was sure you were safe. I wanted to help you more.”

Soonyoung swallows. That was the first one he worked after he discovered Jeonghan had left. He was messy, disorganized, distraught… he worked that job without Seokmin in a fit of out-of-place bravado. That was the first time he’d ever experienced Seokmin’s rage. He remembers being careless and knocking a vase down before he had the art off the walls, and he felt the cold chill of fear run down his spine when he heard the alarm start to ring, but it shut off as easily as it turned on in the first place, and Soonyoung hightailed it out of the place with the pieces he came to steal in hand, heart practically in his throat. He swore from that moment on that he would be more careful and that he would never do a job emotionally again.

Funny how he only broke that promise now, and both times Wonwoo was there to save his ass.

“Thanks. You did, you did enough.”

Wonwoo smiles, hitches his shoulders. “It was my pleasure.” He shrugs. “You were cute even back then.”

Soonyoung snorts, glad that the emotional part was over for now. “I think I had bleached blonde hair.”

“It suited you. Your cheeks were rounder then.”

“My friends kept calling me a hamster.”

Both of them laugh at the thought.

Wonwoo sobers before beginning again. “The San Pietro job was a coincidence. I knew you liked diamonds, based on reputation, and the San Pietro is the biggest one the museum has. Pennetta is a heavy investor in Cygnet Systems, and I knew that he was going to be attending an auction in Venice then he would be busy out of town with a gala, so it was the perfect time to plan a break in and ensure that the museum’s system failed. I wasn’t after the diamond, but it seems, as in previous times, that there was an intersection once again in our interests.”

Soonyoung nods sagely, but there’s still something he doesn’t quite understand. “Why do you want to take down Cygnet?”

Wonwoo sighs. “We used to have one installed in our house. We’re a pretty normal middle-income family. It was just me, my brother and my dad. Pretty much a normal family. My mom passed away when I was in middle school, and we kept her ashes in a place in our living room. So that she could still stay close to us, y’know?”

“My dad was paranoid about keeping me and my brother safe after my mom passed away, so one of the salesmen from Cygnet saw that and totally just reeled him in. My dad’s a good guy, but really gullible like that.” Wonwoo lets out a soft laugh.

“Anyway, one day, while we were all out of the house for some reason or another, there was a break-in. Someone came in, probably really high, and ransacked our living room, destroyed everything.”

Soonyoung swallows. “Oh no.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo says, smiling sadly. “They left her scattered across the lawn. No reason. Nothing sinister; it was just. For fun, I guess. A random person just in it for a whim.”

“Cygnet blamed us for the break-in. They wouldn’t take any responsibility at all, claimed that we were negligent in our maintenance of the system. We paid so much, and they, they wouldn’t even give us a single cent. They even pulled our system out.”

Wonwoo’s eyes narrow. “I learned later on that the directive from the Board of Directors at Cygnet Systems was to treat mid-to-lower income households who use their system as low priority when it came to police response. We weren’t negligent, we were just treated as inferiors.”

“When I found out that the police responded to an upper class break-in at the same time as ours, I flipped. Cygnet wouldn’t even take our calls after that. We had a cause of action but eventually we were told that it would just get bogged down and around by Cygnet’s lawyers. So they got away, and we had to suffer.”

“Losing my mom a second time was hard, but what struck me most was how everyone just… accepted it. Like these people could step all over us and we’d ignore it. How could this huge corporation institutionalize this… this kind of injustice in this day and age? It’s the 21st century.” Wonwoo stops himself, shakes his head. “Sorry, I get really worked up.”

“It’s okay,” Soonyoung tells him. He smiles at him reassuringly. “I get it.”

“Anyway, I swore right then and there to do everything I could to show them the flaws in their system and in their company. I was already good with computers, but then I got better. I made myself get better, and now I’m one of the best. I’ve been doing this alone for about five years now, and I have a few more years to go.”

“Do you keep the stuff you steal?”

“Me? Not the jewelry or the paintings. I never had much use for those. Those I fence right away. The money, I keep what I need, but most of the money goes to random charities.”

“Your philanthropy is out-of-place in this world,” Soonyoung points out, and Wonwoo smiles.

“I’m a thief just the same; I just have a different… motivation. A different point to prove.”

Soonyoung doesn’t tell him but he can’t help but feel a bit jealous of Wonwoo. He became a thief because he felt that it was something he was good at, and it was something he enjoyed doing, but he didn’t have a grand sense of purpose like Wonwoo did. His reason for doing what he did was awfully well-thought of, even noble. He had purpose, goals, not just aimless wandering for the next target, the next challenge like him.

He wonders if he ever had a goal in the first place.

“What about you? What’s your story?”

Soonyoung didn’t realize he had any intentions of telling Wonwoo about himself until he opens his mouth and it comes out. “When I was twelve, I became friends with this guy named Jeonghan. He was a street magician in Sinsadong; he was really really good. Charming, talented, funny."

"I was walking home one day and he shows up in front of me, asking to pick a card. I was scammed out of my day’s allowance but I came back the next day. I was so fascinated and I wanted to be around him all the time.”

“The street magician shtick was only one of his many facets; it was kind of the way he practiced for the evenings he spent climbing into people’s homes and taking what was theirs. What he was, at the core, was a cat burglar. He and this other boy Seokmin were partners, and when they saw how natural it was for me to pick pockets and lift wallets, they asked me to join them.”  
  
“I said yes.”

Wonwoo tilts his head. “I read that you came from a wealthy family. You didn’t need to.”

“I know I didn’t need to,” Soonyoung says. He shrugs. “I did anyway. There was something exciting about that life, an excitement that I could never get staying in Seoul and learning the art of business at the knee of my father. I didn’t want that life. I wanted to travel, I wanted the thrill, I wanted to be with Jeonghan and Seokmn and all of our usual crew.”

“That’s a pretty cushy life choice, all things considered,” Wonwoo remarks, a tinge of bitterness behind his words.

“It was,” Soonyoung acknowledges, and Wonwoo looks at him. Soonyoung gives him a tiny smile, allowing him his begrudgement. He understands.

“I had everything with my parents. In all that time, though, they never bothered to get to know me. To figure out what I wanted. Maybe what I do is just thrill-seeking. I’ve been told that I certainly don’t need it for survival. But I’m good at this, so why shouldn’t I?”

Soonyoung realizes he’s thinking out loud when he hears Wonwoo’s murmur of agreement.

“Anyway, as the three of us got better, we became more ambitious. We’d fly to Japan, to Hong Kong, to Singapore for clients Jeonghan pulled out of his ass. The San Pietro diamond… that was something Jeonghan and I always promised we’d do together.”

“Did something happen to him?” Wonwoo asks softly.

Soonyoung shrugs. “I don’t know. One day, he just disappeared. Just like that. Like he was never there.” Soonyoung stares at a distant point over Wonwoo’s shoulder and tries not to get too caught up on the emotions or the memories. “Seokmin retired from the game last year, so it’s just me now. Me and my pretty little diamond.”

“Which brings us to my question,” Soonyoung ends. “What do you want for your share?”

Wonwoo folds his hands over his lap carefully. “Like I said, I don’t have any emotional investment in the diamond. It’s not my take. It’s yours. But…”

Soonyoung scowls. “But what?”

Wonwoo holds his hands up. “Alright. I’m going to tell you, and you can decide what to do about it. I’m sure you know about the rumors surrounding the San Pietro… that it was cut from the Great Mogul diamond.”

“Of course,” Soonyoung frowns. _Does this guy think I’m an amateur or what?_

Wonwoo nods. “Anyway, I was looking into the diamond the past few months. My contact from Golkonda told me something interesting.”

“We know that the Great Mogul was mistakenly cut by Hortensio Borgia, reducing the almost 800 carat diamond to one of nearly 300 carats because he was so sure he would be able to extract the inclusions.”

“But there are whispers that believe that Borgia made another diamond from the remains of the Great Mogul and fashioned it beautifully in secret as an offering to the saints. Even when he had to pay 10,000 rupees as punishment for destroying the value of the Great Mogul, he went home to Italy with a sizeable diamond in his bags.”

“Soonyoung,” Wonwoo says, in a strangely excited voice that has Soonyoung leaning forward eagerly. “Hortensio Borgia’s home is in Venice, but his family is from Cariano, Verona. A tiny commune called San Pietro.”

“No fucking way,” Soonyoung exhales. He leans back again, floored. “So it’s true? The story? Everything they said about the San Pietro being from the Great Mogul? _The_ Great Mogul?”

Wonwoo nods slowly. “As far as I can tell from everything I’ve compiled about the diamond, yes. Borgia gave it to his family as their offering to Saint Peter, the patron saint of the town. They kept it within the family until somehow Pennetta managed to acquire it. Blackmail, was what I heard. He threatened to bring the family and town into disgrace and disrepute with some scandal. The stone had been in the family for generations, and when I spoke to a lady named Rafaella, whose father was swindled by Pennetta, I promised her that I would do my best to find her family’s diamond.” Wonwoo squirms. “Now this is where you come in.

Soonyoung glares. “Are you seriously making me out to be the selfish jerk who’s going to keep the diamond to himself after I find out that it’s a stolen family heirloom? And not only stolen, they were tricked out of it?”

Wonwoo cringes. “Like I said. It’s up to you.”

It’s hard for Soonyoung to try to find some dignity clad in only a burgundy throw, so he remains seated, turning his gaze to the diamond in his palm. It winks at him, warmer now against the hues of his skin rather than lonely and isolated in a glass case in the cold museum. He imagines how it would look in the safe of his home, and how he would take it out every once in awhile to congratulate himself on a job well done.

He imagines it looks better in the brilliant Italian sun, on a church altar before a beautiful mosaic of Saint Peter.

Jeonghan wouldn’t have known what to do with it either. He wanted so many things but didn’t know what to do with it when he had it. He had a crew, and partners. He made a small family, between the three of them, but when he had it, he didn’t know what to do with it. Jeonghan was a whirling dervish; completely unpredictable and unstable. He was a joy to have around growing up, and was instrumental in Soonyoung finding himself, in every possible way. But maybe when it came to planting his feet and finding a new goal, a new life direction, maybe he needed to let go of things. Including old dreams and goals that weren’t completely his own.

Soonyoung has nothing to prove to anyone. Not anymore. 

He holds the diamond up briefly to his face. It twinkles warmly as the rays of the sun reach in to touch it. He smiles, then tosses it to Wonwoo, who catches it, surprised.

“You’re welcome to return it to the Borgia family.”

Wonwoo’s jaw drops, and Soonyoung finds it amusing, taking him by surprise.

“Really?”

Soonyoung shrugs. “Yeah. You're right, they should have it.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo says, scared Soonyoung might change his mind. “But hey. You should come with me to return it.”

“Me? Go with you?”

“Yes,” Wonwoo replies, smiling at Soonyoung. “Come with me.”

Soonyoung didn’t actually need to be witness to the return of the diamond but there was something about the way Wonwoo looked at him, eager and excited, that has him sighing.

“Alright.” He hopes he doesn’t regret it.

 

❧  ❧  ❧

 

A few days later, they’re driving a rental up a few craggy roads that look like they need a good paving. Wonwoo drives leisurely through the picturesque little town, filled with acres of green where grapes and other things grow. The buildings are a quaint marriage between rustic and modern, and the few people out and about seem to be walking leisurely, their destinations never a rush.

Soonyoung watches as they pull up to a medium-sized house that looks renovated but still evokes a sense of tradition, and a passage of time. Soonyoung glances at Wonwoo, who looks back at him and nods. They exit the car together as a middle-aged woman waits at the door to meet them.

About an hour later, they’re walking out of the house, 200 carats lighter than when they entered. The sun is shining brightly above them, and Soonyoung feels a little light-headed about where they came from.

“Well, that was fairly painless,” Wonwoo tells him as they opt to take a walk to stretch their joints before driving back to Verona.

Soonyoung snorts. “Easy for you to say. You didn’t have to wave farewell to your life goal in a dignified manner.”

Wonwoo clucks his tongue. “I thought you came to terms with that already?”

Soonyoung shrugs. “I have. It doesn’t make the sting hurt less though.” He kicks at the loose stone on the paved sidewalk, shoves his hands into his pockets to prevent himself from reaching out and looping arms with Wonwoo. “So Pennetta really didn’t file a claim with the police or the insurance company?”

Wonwoo shook his head. “As he has no real papers to verify the authenticity of his chain of title to the diamond, he decided to just call it a loss. He’s reconsidering his shares in Cygnet, though.”

“Good,” Soonyoung says. “That’s good for you. Great.”

“Soonyoung?” Wonwoo asks. “Will you be okay?”

Soonyoung shrugs, before nodding. “There will be other jobs.”

They’ve reached the top of a hill by now, and they turn right into the driveway of a small winery. There’s nobody around there to hear them except the long stretches of field behind them, and the whispering vines of grapes curled around makeshift walls.

“Soonyoung,” Wonwoo begins, and he scratches his nape, nervous. “I’m going to Strasbourg next.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo continues. “A businessman named Rolf Melzer is next on my list. I’m going there to take a look at his collection, strategize for a new job, that kind of thing.”

“That’s nice,” Soonyoung comments politely.

Wonwoo scowls. “Are you going to make me draw it out?”

Soonyoung smiles. “Maybe.”

“Look. I don’t want to sound too presumptuous here.”

“But?”

“I’m going to take the plunge anyway,” Wonwoo takes a deep breath, and lets it all out on an exhale. “Do you want to work with me? Like, as my partner. I know I said I could manage alone, and I know you’re the kind of guy to want to work alone. Mutually exclusive, you said before. But, I don’t know, I kind of maybe don’t want to work alone anymore.” Wonwoo says everything in one breath, and inhales again at the end of his speech. Soonyoung stares at him, waiting for him to continue.

“We could be good together,” Wonwoo continues, and the bridge of his glasses slide down his nose a little further. Soonyoung’s fingers itch to push it back up. “We could split everything fifty-fifty. What do you say?”

Soonyoung stops to think about Wonwoo’s proposition. Truthfully, he’d been anticipating this. He looks at Wonwoo--his dark brown hair ruffles in the Verona breeze, and he shivers a little. Soonyoung’s first instinct is to tug Wonwoo’s jacket around him, maybe draw him in for a little smack. It’s a terrible thing to want to do. He hates it.

The past few days have been nice. They left Venice that same day and headed to Verona, as they agreed to meet Signora Borgia at their family home in San Pietro when she came back from her trip. They unwound from the stress of the past few days by sightseeing in the morning and, upon unspoken mutual agreement, sleeping together at night.

It’s a nice little affair, Soonyoung thinks. He considers it his present after the end of a stressful job. If they end up working together, this would be a nice little bonus maybe.

But the truth is that he doesn’t really know Wonwoo very well yet, doesn’t trust him as far as he can throw him. Nor doesn’t he think Wonwoo should trust him with anything either; he’s as flighty as they come and he could decide on a whim to just leave. Like Jeonghan did.

Plus, sleeping with your partner--terrible idea. If they end up working together, that little aspect may have to be discontinued. Soonyoung frowns at how awful he finds that idea to be.

He weighs the pros and cons in his head, but in the end he tosses in his gut instinct which is saying… What the hell. He doesn’t have much to do anyway.

“Alright.”

“Really?” Wonwoo seems surprised at his answer, but he beams immediately.

“But on two conditions.” Soonyoung holds up two fingers. “One. We try one time and we’ll see how it goes. If it doesn’t work out, fair play, we go our separate ways.” Soonyoung narrows his eyes at him. “If you screw me over, I will hunt you down and end you. I know people. I’m very old school. Got it?”

Wonwoo’s nose scrunches and he laughs silently. “Got it. What’s the second condition?”

Soonyoung steps up close to him and drills a finger into his chest. “Don’t like me. It makes things complicated.”

Wonwoo sighs. “I can’t agree to the second condition because it’s too late. I’ve already broken it.”

Something inside Soonyoung warms and breaks simultaneously, but he shakes his head furiously and scowls on the outside. “Don’t do that. Don’t you dare do that. Sleeping together, that’s fine but don’t care, oh my God.”

“Why not?” The expression on Wonwoo’s face is open and warm, and his palms are open, reaching out for Soonyoung, waiting for him to step in.

The easy openness makes Soonyoung start to panic. “I mean, you don’t even know me, you’ve only known me for _a week_. I could just be leading you on. I could shove you over right here, leave you for dead and _no one would know_.”

By now they’ve stopped walking; there’s no one around and the air is silent except for their quiet bickering. Soonyoung glares at Wonwoo, fists balled as if ready to fight.

“I don’t think you have murder in you,” Wonwoo muses and smiles. “I’d have figured that out by now.”

Soonyoung hates everything about this discussion; he wants to tear his hair out. Or Wonwoo’s. “Again, you’ve only known me a week.”

“Yeah, but you get a feel for people quick in this profession. You’re clever and creative and incredible at what you do, but you don’t have a violent bone in your body.”

Soonyoung bristles at being pegged so easily. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You can’t go around saying things like that.”

Wonwoo frowns at him. “You have no business telling me how I should or shouldn’t feel, or what I should or shouldn’t say.” Wonwoo crosses his arms. “If I start to care about you, if I like you, then that’s for me to figure out. And I know what I want. I just need to know if you want it too.”

“You don’t understand,” Soonyoung says, shaking his head. “You are a good person, who is using his nerd hacking powers to systematically take down this huge corporation that did his family and a lot of other people wrong. You’re not a thief. _I’m_ the thief. I’m the bad guy.”

Wonwoo looks like he wants to reach out and embrace him. Soonyoung refuses to budge an inch.

“Bad guys don’t get cute nerd boyfriends who help them out with stealing. Bad guys come and go as they please, and they end up hurting people. They end up hurting people they don’t want to care about but they do.” Soonyoung feels tears tinge at the corners of his eyes and he’s a little mortified.

The annoyance in Wonwoo’s eyes fades a little. “Did you just call me cute? _And_ your boyfriend?”

Soonyoung wants to throw himself into a pile of poison ivy. “Shut up, that wasn’t the point.”

“No, I think the point is that you’re afraid. Of little old me.”

“I’m fairly certain I can take you on in a fistfight, Jeon,” Soonyoung grumbles.

“That wasn’t what I meant. Okay, fine. I’ll back off on that. A trial. One job. Strasbourg. I’ll text you the time and date. Later.”

Soonyoung furrows his brow. “Why not tell me now?”

“Because I’m hungry and want dinner,” Wonwoo says. He holds his hand out, waits. Soonyoung glares at him. Wonwoo shrugs, with humor. “Too soon. I get it. We’ll fuck when we get back to the hotel room but you’re a prude about handholding.”

“I hate you and never want to see you again,” Soonyoung grouses. He sulks but nudges his shoulder against the other’s while they walk side by side companionably back down the road to the car they rented together, Wonwoo’s deep tinkling laugh echoing in the quiet Verona air.

 

❧  ❧  ❧

 

_Epilogue._

 

A year and four jobs (Strasbourg, San Francisco, Osaka and Honolulu, not that he’s counting) later, they’re in Hong Kong.

Soonyoung stands on the edge of the roof of the Eastman building, clad in a black bodysuit and monitoring the security patterns from his position above. He grimaces after about five minutes of observing the night watchmen. “They use random patterns. Ugh. I’ll have to do this manually.”

A sound crackles in the earbud he’s agreed to place in his ear. “If you think I’m going to let you go in there without me after telling me that they have no set rounds schedule, you have another thing coming.”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “I already agreed to have you nattering in my ear, but that doesn’t mean you get to tell me when to do what I do.” Wonwoo’s stuck in a nondescript delivery van a block or two away, but Soonyoung knows that he’ll be there in a second if he doesn’t say anything reassuring.

“Just give me a few minutes to at least deactivate the security cameras and get something to distract them.”

Soonyoung sighs. “Okay fine.”

“Stay.”

“I am not a dog, Jeon Wonwoo,” Soonyoung replies without much heat.

“You could have fooled me, as you have the attention span of a chihuahua. Just… hang on.”

Soonyoung pouts, but feels warm in the knowledge that Wonwoo is looking out for him, that he’s always looking out for him.

It’s been a year and they haven’t screwed the other over yet. Maybe they really won’t. Every day together feels more and more domestic and strangely, Soonyoung is fine with that. The professional partnership has had its ups and downs but it’s mostly ups. They do work well together; they challenge each other a lot but both of them are really good at what they do, and complement the other’s shortcomings. When Soonyoung gets stuck in a corner, Wonwoo gets him out of it, and in exchange, Soonyoung makes it easier for Wonwoo to do what he does. It makes what they do really easy. It’s nice. Fun, even. Soonyoung doesn’t remember having as much fun doing this in his life.

Cygnet was still up, but the damage he and Wonwoo had done to their credibility as a security system was significant. They were constantly being made to answer to their customers and stockholders, and that was all Wonwoo needed.

Soonyoung felt a great sense of accomplishment in helping Wonwoo with his list. It’s another goal that was set by a person that wasn’t him, but Soonyoung doesn’t feel like it was forced on him. It was a choice he made for himself, something that is affirmed every time Wonwoo scratches a name off his list and smiles quietly to himself. He cares very much that what he does now helps Wonwoo out.

Having a direction, and a person to go home with, who cares about him coming home, are things Soonyoung admits to himself that he likes very much.

He never figured himself the type to like quiet evenings watching TV on the couch, random dinner dates and the good (fantastic, really) sex, but apparently he is. Plus Seokmin likes him, so that’s always a bonus when he and Wonwoo come over for dimsum.

He doesn’t even think about the San Pietro or Jeonghan much anymore; he just hopes every once in awhile that the family is keeping it safe.

“How much longer, slowpoke?”

“Gee whiz, mister, not like I’m breaking into an ultra secure newly upgraded security system. Just your regular mom and pop operation here.”

Soonyoung smirks. “As long as I’m pop and you’re mom.”

“I resent this assignation of gender roles.”

“Fine, we’re both moms.”

“That’s better.”

“Hey Wonwoo?”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s get noodles after this, okay?” Soonyoung hears Wonwoo’s gentle tinkling laugh in his ear, and it makes him smile.

“Okay.”

He remembers all of a sudden that conversation he had with Seokmin about what made him stop. Seokmin said something about having a reason bigger than the game.

Being with Wonwoo, that was something. He’s not sure what it is just yet, but it sure is something.

(Just that morning, they spent a few extra hours in bed at the hotel because Soonyoung woke up to Wonwoo peppering his face with kisses. Soonyoung exhaled; he’d never felt so soft in his entire life.

“Good morning,” Wonwoo breathed in his ear, and ran a hand through his hair. Soonyoung stretches into his palm.

“Good morning,” he says back sleepily. Arms reach around him to hold him close.)

(The sex that morning was incredible; Soonyoung had almost said the L word.

Not that he wasn’t in the L word. But he wanted to wait for the right time to say it.)

(Wonwoo was going to tell Soonyoung the L word that night, while Soonyoung was shoveling chow mein into his mouth, because Wonwoo couldn’t see himself not being in L word with him for the forseeable future.)

“If I grab the Vittoria in less than ten minutes, you’re paying.”

He hears Wonwoo’s chuckle in his ear, reassuring. “Fine. Okay, you’re up in ten seconds. Good luck.”

Soonyoung smiles. “Thanks.”

(Soonyoung says the L word back at Wonwoo, the small Vittoria statue and boxes of Chinese in between them. They move in together the next week.) 

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: I decided to add some post-fic notes just in case people were curious about the history behind the heist.
> 
> The Great Mogul diamond, Hortensio Borgia/sometimes Ortensio Borgio (depending on whose historical account you read), the 10,000 rupees and him being from Venice are all real and super interesting! Uhhh... the hotel they stay at in Venice, also real. The legend of there being another diamond fashioned from the Great Mogul is not real, as far as I know ;) the artists mentioned here are real, the artwork vaguely fictional (I do not know how big a regular Degas is, nor will I be able to tell you I'm sorry).
> 
> SHIT, I forgot to say. This fic is heavily influenced by the TV show _Leverage_ , including the concept of thieves and hackers and conmen and crews and also taking down big corrupt corporations and people. I highly recommend watching it; [these scenes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WOuKtzrz4-E) especially influenced the eventual Soonyoung here. Also the whole fic concept was inspired by me watching [this SYTYCD performance of Roisin Murphy's "Ruby Blue"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u5pnRgH65wk), which is an excellent song and routine.
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read this ;; ILU ALL.


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